A Lettered Distraction
by ElfFlame
Summary: Draco hates birthdays, but he hates being alone on them even more. Slash.


A/N: Written in honor of my lovely Draco's birthday today. Unbetad because I wanted to get it posted today.

A Lettered Distraction

Birthdays. Draco hated them. If he could help it, he never told anyone when his birthday was coming up. The only people who still knew the actual date were Snape, who hated that kind of thing as much as he did, and Pansy, who knew better than to incur Draco's wrath by bringing it up or letting anyone else know about it. And this year, he would be twenty-five, which was halfway to fifty, the age his father had been when he'd died alone in Azkaban. And it was a quarter of the way to one hundred. Why should that be something he was pleased about?

If Draco had his way, he'd have been twenty forever. He'd liked twenty. The war had been over. The Ministry had finally stopped grabbing at things from his estate, and he'd finally been able to move back to the Manor, though he'd still had a ways to go in fixing much of the damage they'd caused the place. He'd even been engaged to be married, and involved in one of the hottest affairs he'd ever had. Right up until Pansy found him and Blaise in bed together, and decided she'd wanted in on the action…both relationships had gone downhill from there, and now Pansy and Blaise were honeymooning in Barbados, of all places. He hoped they'd both get sunburns, the traitors.

Vince had died in the war, Greg had been condemned to Azkaban along with the rest of the Death Eaters, and Nott was having tea with the Longbottoms in St. Mungos…when he wasn't eating the wallpaper. Tracy had married Terry Boot, Lisa was off in the Andes with her new beau, and Millicent… Well, the less said about her the better. They'd never gotten along anyway. So Draco was alone for his birthday.

And he hated it. Sure, he didn't want people fawning all over him, but surely he deserved someone to talk to, right? Someone who at least cared enough to drop by and make sure he hadn't keeled over in the night? Someone who could tell him that no, he wasn't getting too old, that he was still as gorgeous as the day they'd met him. Something…someone…anyone.

So, when an owl arrived three days before his birthday, Draco opened it eagerly, hoping perhaps that it might be an invitation to a bash somewhere, or that Blaise and Pansy had decided to pack it in early, or that his cousin had decided to take up his offer to come see the Manor in its full glory in the summer. But it was none of these things. It was a simple note, written in green ink:

_Draco –_

_We've known each other for a long time, but we've never even scratched the surface. I think there is so much more than you show people. Almost as much as I keep hidden myself. I don't want to tell you who I am just yet, as you would refuse to talk to me if you knew who I was. Please, if you are willing to talk, owl me back using this same bird. It knows where to find me._

_– A hopeful friend._

Draco read the letter through several times, unsure what to think of it. But he couldn't stop himself from wanting to reply. Sure, it might for some god awful reason turn out to be Weasley, but at this point, he was willing to talk to just about anyone to forget his impending birthday. He moved to his study and pulled out a quill and parchment, then settled down to write.

_Dear Hopeful Friend –_

_I'm intrigued. And bored, which means for the moment that you have my attention. You say I wouldn't talk to you if I knew who you were. I take it to mean that I know you, or knew you. Did we attend school together?_

_Since you know who I am, but I don't know who you are, perhaps you would be willing to provide some clues to your identity at least? For example, why you chose to write to me, even assuming that I would never respond. If you know me, surely you know that I am mercurial in mood, and therefore willing to give people a chance. Sometimes more than once. There are exceptions to this rule, of course, but aren't there to every rule?_

_If you wish to continue corresponding in this manner, I would ask that you at least give me some clues to who you are. If you wish to keep your secret, that is fine, but you cannot deny me the enjoyment of a good puzzle._

_Draco Magnus Black Malfoy_

Draco quickly dried the ink, folded the letter and sealed it, giving it to the owl, which had been sitting on his desk watching as he wrote. "There," he told the bird. "And if you return quickly, I'll give you one of the field mice I keep for my Athena," he smiled. The owl hooted, and flew through the window which had been opened to let the late spring breezes cool the room.

The day passed slowly after that, and Draco wondered who his secret correspondent was. It did sound as though it were someone he knew, though that could be just about anyone at this point, given the amount of parties he had attended over the years. But the writer had said they knew each other—had known each other for a long time. That meant that the person wasn't simply a recent acquaintance. School or his parent's friends came to mind as the most likely candidates, but most of his parent's friends were dead or in Azkaban, thanks to Voldemort, and many of their children weren't much better off. If it were school, the person was likely either not in Slytherin, or not in his year, as he knew his house year-mates well enough to know their writing, and the writing in the letter wasn't familiar, though it did strike a memory deep inside that he wasn't quite able to dredge up. Oh, well. Either they would write back, or Draco would be out a puzzle, and have to find something else to do. It wasn't like he had to know who this person was…

But when the owl arrived again shortly after he had finished his supper, he was pleased enough to give her not only a field mouse, but a saucer of water as he read through the latest missive.

_Dear Draco –_

_I'm pleased to have provided you with a puzzle. Before, all we ever gave each other were headaches. Yes, we did attend school together, though we were not in the same house. It may have been a mistake on my part, as I now wonder what might have been different had we gotten to know each other properly, as housemates—roommates, for seven years. You see, though I was sorted into a different house, the hat wished to put me in Slytherin. Not that I regret being in my house. The friendships I made there helped me through the dark days after Voldemort returned._

_But towards the end of our time at Hogwarts, I began to wonder how things might have been different, had you and I become friends. I say that now, but I cannot help but chuckle ruefully at myself, knowing that it was my own fault you and I never got along. You had wanted to befriend me. I knew that well. It was my own stubbornness that kept us from becoming so, and I cannot blame you for the way you treated me after I snubbed you. It was my own fault._

_And now perhaps I have given too much away, Draco. But I will continue to write, even so. I admired you from afar that last year. You were so proud, despite what had happened to your parents, and to several of your friends. But I could not help but be grateful that you had survived Voldemort mostly unscathed. You were alive, and for that I was pleased. My friends were horrified with my obsession with you, but one, who was always a great deal smarter than me, urged me to talk to you. She said that if I could just get you out of my system, that I would feel much better. But you know what, Draco? I didn't want you out of my system._

_Should I have acted on those feelings, Draco? What would your reaction have been? Then again, perhaps it would be better that I didn't know._

_After rereading this letter several times, I wonder that I should even send it. But Cleo seems insistent that I do, so I will. I'm not sure how you bribed her. She's usually far more standoffish to those she doesn't know. Not like my first owl._

_At any rate, do not feel you have to respond to this at all. I realize how horrified this will all make you, particularly if you have figured out who I am. If I haven't heard from you within a day, I will assume you will not be writing. Feel free to keep Cleo, if that is your wish. I think she likes you better than me._

_– Still A Friend._

Draco digested this letter for a long time before he allowed himself to answer. He knew this person. Very well, obviously. After all, they had gone to school together for seven years. And the boy—well, man now, but he must have been a boy, for otherwise they would not have been roommates had the boy been sorted into Slytherin… Someone from another house who might have been sorted into Slytherin. Well, that ruled out most of the Hufflepuffs. Perhaps Zachariah Smith, though he couldn't recall being rebuffed by him for any reason. It wouldn't be Boot. He would have mentioned something by now, and he'd always gotten along well with Boot in any case. None of the other male Ravenclaws stood out in his memory has having snubbed him either. Which left the Gryffindors. And that was a prospect that made Draco's stomach churn.

God, it couldn't be Weasley, could it? Just the idea of the red-headed menace having a crush on him made him ill. He supposed it could be Longbottom as well, though he didn't think Longbottom had enough guts to rebuff him at any time, let alone write him a letter declaring…what? Affection, perhaps? Certainly a lack of enmity that they'd had while in school. He barely recalled the other two boys Gryffindor in their year… And then there was Potter. Draco laughed at himself for even thinking it. Potter would never, would he? He hated Draco. He'd certainly proved that enough times. So. Either Weasley or Longbottom. He sighed. Still, at least he could confirm his guess. Ask his "secret" correspondent something that each of them would answer differently. Finally, sometime near midnight, Draco took up his pen.

_Dear Still A Friend –_

_I read your letter several times, in hopes that I was wrong. Please tell me that you are not a Gryffindor. I understand you might think this a request to lie to me, but let me be perfectly frank. I am not put off by your admission of interest, or the fact that you are male and not female, but I cannot pretend that the thought that you might be a Gryffindor does not concern me.._

_You say that it is your fault that we did not become friends. Perhaps I should explain that I am not the sort to offer myself lightly. If you offended me in any way, I do guarantee that I would have found a way to make sure you regretted it. I am not known for my forgiving nature. Have you done something I should forgive you for?_

_Allow me another hint, sir, so that I can narrow my choices further. After all, there were so many in our year…. Did we share classes together? And if so, which ones? And what was your favorite class? I was always fond of potions myself. Though by my last year, I could have taught the classes myself. You see, Severus is my godfather, and I used to help him in his laboratory, so I had done many of the potions in the classes we took, sometimes years before we learned them. What was your best subject? Or did you prefer extra-curricular activities?_

_You say you had an owl before. Is this your second owl? Perhaps you would do well to keep more than the packaged treats that the pet store sells. I keep field mice for my Athena, and promised Cleo one if she returned to me quickly. She is sitting her watching me even as I write, and I wonder if she is not hoping for further correspondence between us._

_I will not say that I am pleased by my guesses as to your identity. There is one person out of the many that I can think of would please me at this point, but as I am still uncertain, I am more than willing to listen if you should wish to respond once more._

_Draco Malfoy_

Draco sealed this letter, and Cleo was out of the room before he could promise her another mouse. He went to bed that night with memories of Hogwarts flitting through his memory.

He awoke far earlier than he would have liked the next morning, but seeing Cleo settled on the pillow beside him, with another letter clasped in her beak. "Morning, little one," he yawned. Once he had stretched a bit, he propped himself up on his pillows and took the letter from her.

_Dear Draco –_

_I'm amazed you're still willing to speak with me, given that you must be aware of my house by now. Despite what you said, there were hardly that many boys in our year. As you guessed, you have indeed been corresponding with a Gryffindor. I realize this upsets you, but as I said in my first letter, we were never friendly, even before we were sorted. I apologize if you have nothing but negative memories of those of us in Gryffindor. I wince when I recall some of the things our houses did to each other. But we were children, and that can sometimes forgive a multitude of sins._

_You say there is one person you can think of who you would, indeed, be pleased to learn was my identity. I take this to mean not of my house. Can you think of no one in our year in my house you might have been willing to be friends with? Perhaps before they became a Gryffindor? Please tell me if there is no one, and I will cease bothering you._

_But if, even one good thought of a single Gryffindor comes to mind, would you be willing to give me a chance? Even if for nothing more than a possible friendship, I would like to get to know you._

_– A worried Gryffindor._

Draco scowled down at the letter. Its apologetic tone was starting to sound a great deal like Longbottom, and that was just not all right. He looked up at Cleo, scowling. "Tell me you don't belong to Longbottom…" he said. The bird cocked her head, but otherwise remained silent. Draco sighed, putting the letter aside for the moment, and moving to the bathroom, where he took a long shower, in hopes of forgetting the possible identity of his stalker.

He consoled himself with the fact that at least there was no way it could possibly be Weasley. Weasley would never have lowered himself to this kind of groveling. Not to Draco Malfoy, at any rate.

Once out of the shower, he rang his house-elf to bring breakfast, then sat on his bed and reread the notes in order. The first told him that the person was a private person, and didn't like to show who he was to the world at large. Intriguing fact. But that could have been any of the Gryffindors, really. The second had provided the clues that he had been in Gryffindor, though the fact that he might have been a Slytherin was surprising.

So Draco began to imagine each of the Gryffindors in his year. There had been that half-blood…what was his name? Something Irish. Flannery? He had been an idiot, to be quite honest, and if he'd ever been sorted into another house, it most likely would have been Hufflepuff. And Irish-boy's best friend…the tall black boy. Hadn't he been a Muggleborn? Draco had never spent much time with him. He was a possibility. But the letters had said they'd known each other. Which seemed to make him less likely, didn't it?

Longbottom seemed fit only for Hufflepuff of the other houses. Too direct, and too soft to ever be a Slytherin. Weasley…well, there had been aspects to Weasley that might have been Slytherin in nature. He certainly had ambitions in life. But would he have been so blatantly anti-Slytherin if he had nearly been one? Then again, people did tend to look down on the things they might have become, if only to prove to themselves that they were better than that thing, and not wishing to be it.

And then, there was Potter. Potter fit a lot of the clues almost too well. He had said he had an intelligent female friend. Well, that could be Granger, though that seemed to apply to Weasley and Longbottom as well. And as for the Slytherin side…the idea made Draco pause. He did have the ability to speak Parseltongue. Surely that would have made him a shoo-in to Slytherin. Even if only a half-blood. And there had been times when Draco had caught Potter staring at him. But as soon as he had, Potter would scowl and look away. And Potter had never denied his hatred of Draco. Honestly, Draco couldn't particularly blame him, given what his father had tried to do to him in the name of his master. He was even a private person, as the first letter had indicated. After leaving Hogwarts, he had done his best to fade into obscurity, though there were always reports of "Where Harry Potter is Now" in the Prophet.

If he had to choose… But he wouldn't even allow himself to think it, because he was certain that was not the case. But if Longbottom or Weasley wanted to invoke his good feelings towards another of their fellows to keep talking to Draco, he would do so.

Upon finishing his breakfast, he moved to his desk and brought out a new quill, and a bottle of silver ink that he had yet to use.

_Gryffindor –_

_I cannot but be alarmed that you have sought me out this way. As things stand now, there are only three people you are likely to be. Two of whom fill me with a great deal of horror. Is there any way I can convince you to stop this game now? I believe I would like to know your identity now. I can no longer convince myself this is a simple pastime to relieve my boredom. If you had a true purpose for writing to me beyond horrifying me beyond belief, please say so now. If not, then please desist in stirring up memories of a time I would mostly rather forget._

_I offer only this in parting: if you truly wish to get to know me, I have no plans for tomorrow, but would rather not be alone. If you are honest in your request to know me, come to the Manor tomorrow and spend the day with me. If you are who I think, I realize this might be a daunting prospect, but I promise you will be safe here. For the day. Anything beyond that will have to be negotiated._

_Please let me know by return owl if you will be visiting so that I can release the wards so you will not be harmed._

_Draco Magnus Black Malfoy_

Draco signed the letter with a flourish and sealed it quickly, then turned to Cleo, who was nibbling on a piece of toast that Draco had tossed her to keep her occupied as he read. "Here, Cleo. I do hope to see you again. At least once more." He smiled at the owl as she hooted at him, then took off out of his bedroom window.

He spent the day making simple plans. Things that would be pleasant with or without company, but that, when shared with someone, might be even more pleasant. Each time he saw a bird flying by, he couldn't help but stop and wait, in the hopes that it was Cleo returning. Each time, he berated himself afterwards. After all, it was hardly likely that it could be who he wished, and tomorrow would be spent barely tolerating the company of an idiot wimp or a red-headed freak. He sighed, and returned to his plans.

When Cleo finally showed around tea-time, Draco was surprised. He'd thought for sure that he had scared his correspondent off. But then again, his correspondent was a Gryffindor, after all…

He smiled at the owl and took the letter from her, thanking her by offering her another field mouse before opening the latest letter.

_Dear Draco –_

_I understand your alarm in this, and am startled, given that you must know, at least on some level, who I am, that you are still willing to entertain the notion of spending any time at all with me._

_I have been to your Manor before, and am willing to take you up on your offer, with one caveat. When wee meet, if you are horrified by my identity, I would ask that you not pretend to play happy host. Simply tell me, and I will leave. I never want to force my friendship on anyone, and I think I used up all my chances at friendship with you far too long ago to count._

_I will be there by noon, as I know you are not an early riser, and would not want to force you out of your own routine. I look forward to seeing you again. It has been far too long, and I find myself curious as to how you might have changed._

_– Your Gryffindor._

Draco could not help but raise an eyebrow at the signature. His Gryffindor, eh? He'd never considered owning one before, he thought with a bemused expression on his face.

He told Cleo to go home, that there would be no reply. After all, none was needed, really. He would see for himself who his correspondent was soon enough. The rest of the afternoon was spent planning his outfit. After all, he might be a Gryffindor, but that didn't mean that Draco should dress shabbily.

He woke up horribly early the next morning. The sun had only been up for a few hours, at most. Surely on his birthday, he could sleep in a bit more than that. But it wasn't to be. The moment he opened his eyes, a sense of excitement filled him. Even though he was sure his visitor wouldn't be who he was wishing for, at this point, any companionship would be exciting.

He ate a leisurely breakfast, then spent a great deal of time preparing himself to look good for his visitor. He didn't want to disappoint them. They'd had a crush on him for eight years, after all…

By the time he was ready, it was nearly noon, and Draco moved himself to the front parlor. He hated waiting, though he was good at it. After all, his father had never allowed him to be a fidgety child. He'd learned early on how to control his impulses to check on things every five minutes. Everything was prepared, and no matter what, he would not be alone today. Tomorrow was another story.

When the door-chimes rang, Draco was so nervous that he moved to the sideboard where he'd had the elves place some hors de oeuvres, so that he wouldn't be staring at the door as his guest was announced. There was enough here for four, but he'd wanted to provide his guest with a selection, so there had to be a little of each. He did hope it wasn't Weasley. He'd seen him eat before. It was truly painful to watch him shovel things into his mouth, and the boy had never seemed to appreciate the food he ate. It could have all been exactly the same, from the notice he gave it.

A throat was cleared behind him, and Draco felt his heart leap into his throat. He turned, uncertain what to expect, and found the prepared greeting dying on his lips as he took in the dark messy hair, overlarge glasses, and shy smile of Harry Potter.

"Potter?"

Potter nodded sheepishly. "Sorry if you were hoping for someone else."

Draco shook his head, a grin spreading across his face. "Not hoping. Dreading."

Potter looked puzzled at that. "What?"

Potter's puzzlement helped Draco to regain his footing. "There were only three likely candidates, Potter. You, Weasley, and Longbottom. I'm sure you're well aware of my feelings for Weasley, and as for Longbottom…Well, the less said, the better."

Harry went from shocked to grinning as he listened to Draco's summation. "So, you didn't think it would be me, but you invited me anyway?"

Draco looked at him carefully for a moment. "Of course. I didn't want to be alone today."

Harry moved across the room, so they were standing face to face. "And what's so special about today?" he asked quietly.

"Ah, well, that's your puzzle to figure out, Potter." He turned to pick up a canapé, and popped it into his mouth. "Help yourself. There's more than enough of everything. House elves, you know."

A shiver went down his back as a tongue caressed his ear. "What if what I want isn't there?" Harry asked in a whisper.

Silver eyes met green. "Depends on what you do want."

A smirk slid across Harry's face, and Draco wondered what being in Harry's house would have been like, Gryffindor or Slytherin. Harry leaned forward, and their lips brushed together. "And if I want you?" he asked huskily.

"It could be arranged," Draco responded.

"Good." Harry took his hand and led him towards the hallway. "Because I always wanted to celebrate a birthday that way."

Draco looked at him, startled. "Today's not your birthday, is it? I thought it was in July."

Harry laughed and continued to tug Draco up the main staircase. "Of course not. It's yours. Why do you think I wrote to you in the first place?" He turned to Draco, and pulled him into his arms, so they were aligned chest-to-chest, and leaned down and kissed him softly on the lips. "Happy birthday, Draco."

It was the best birthday he'd ever had. Perhaps birthdays weren't so bad after all?

_Fin_


End file.
